Image, Source: digital file from intermediary roll film
Image, Source: intermediary roll film
Image, Source: digital file from intermediary roll film
Mike B Per: 2
This imaginary town I live in,
Have many effects on my life.
My backyard to my house has an open-front beach,
The people there wonder and dream about having quesh.
The beach has many nasty and rude people,
Sometimes you can see them next door, at the church’s steeple.
Many fish like to jump in and out of the ocean,
People all around like to rub themselves with lotion.
There is a lighthouse from a far,
The African-Americans aren’t allowed to go there.
You have to pay money to go there,
But during this depression people live on well-fair.
We have a creepy old cathedral on Franklin Street,
A little boy lives there that is homeless goes by the name Pete.
I love this town we all live in,
But this great depression makes me want to just give in.
mike sk
In the town that i imagine
it is very bleak
its always dangerous
the roofs leak
some are forced to part
no one gets along
no one is happy segragation has torn them apart
there is a dividing street between black and white
living space is tight, there is little light
The governments corrupt
everything i thought sane is about to errupt
i sometimes see it as opression
but then i realize its the great depression
You see the little church down the street.
It always makes my heart skip a beat.
Even though you might now care.
The friendly preacher who still works there
Is at age ninety five
I am surprised he hasn’t died
For whites it is always a nice day for the beach.
However, blacks may not be able to get over the breech.
But when it is warm and sunny,
They go for a walk hoping to see something funny.
The whites incinerate under the burning sun.
While negro people go for a quick run.
In your house is where you stay.
Most of them time you watch the white children play.
Around town you go lurking,
Wishing that you could be working.
Last but not least is your grumpy neighbor.
He never even bothers to do any favors. -Becky P
Collaberative Poem
This imaginary town we live in,
have many effects on our lives.
We have a creepy old cathedral on Franklin Sreet,
where a little homeless boy lives there, and goes by the name Pete.
Around town you go lurking,
wishing that you were working.
You have a bunch of grumpy old neighbors,
who have never bothered to do any favors.
Some are forced to part,
nobody gets along,
no one is happy ; segragation has torn them apart.
The government is corrupt,
everything we thought sane is about to errupt
sometimes we see it as opression,
but then we realize it's the great depression.
I love this town we all live in,
but sometimes I just want to give in.
Mike B Per: 2
This imaginary town I live in,
Have many effects on my life.
My backyard to my house has an open-front beach,
The people there wonder and dream about having quesh.
The beach has many nasty and rude people,
Sometimes you can see them next door, at the church’s steeple.
Many fish like to jump in and out of the ocean,
People all around like to rub themselves with lotion.
There is a lighthouse from a far,
The African-Americans aren’t allowed to go there.
You have to pay money to go there,
But during this depression people live on well-fair.
We have a creepy old cathedral on Franklin Street,
A little boy lives there that is homeless goes by the name Pete.
I love this town we all live in,
But this great depression makes me want to just give in.
mike sk
In the town that i imagine
it is very bleak
its always dangerous
the roofs leak
some are forced to part
no one gets along
no one is happy segragation has torn them apart
there is a dividing street between black and white
living space is tight, there is little light
The governments corrupt
everything i thought sane is about to errupt
i sometimes see it as opression
but then i realize its the great depression
You see the little church down the street.
It always makes my heart skip a beat.
Even though you might now care.
The friendly preacher who still works there
Is at age ninety five
I am surprised he hasn’t died
For whites it is always a nice day for the beach.
However, blacks may not be able to get over the breech.
But when it is warm and sunny,
They go for a walk hoping to see something funny.
The whites incinerate under the burning sun.
While negro people go for a quick run.
In your house is where you stay.
Most of them time you watch the white children play.
Around town you go lurking,
Wishing that you could be working.
Last but not least is your grumpy neighbor.
He never even bothers to do any favors.
-Becky P
Collaberative Poem
This imaginary town we live in,
have many effects on our lives.
We have a creepy old cathedral on Franklin Sreet,
where a little homeless boy lives there, and goes by the name Pete.
Around town you go lurking,
wishing that you were working.
You have a bunch of grumpy old neighbors,
who have never bothered to do any favors.
Some are forced to part,
nobody gets along,
no one is happy ; segragation has torn them apart.
The government is corrupt,
everything we thought sane is about to errupt
sometimes we see it as opression,
but then we realize it's the great depression.
I love this town we all live in,
but sometimes I just want to give in.